office, excitement burning in my veins. I was dressed to the nines. Louboutin heels. Tight, form-fitting black slacks. Red lace corset that accentuated the ladies. A long-sleeved overcoat. Each piece designed and made by yours truly.
My hair was cut, coloured and blow-dried to perfection, not a single strand out of place. I had a fresh set of acrylic nails (red and black to match my outfit, of course) with a bloody dagger painted on my third fingernail on both hands.
I was nothing if not thorough when it came to matching my outfit with my accessories. First impressions were very important, after all. Who said you couldn’t look good and kick some serious ass too?
Even though I didn’t play an active role in the Bratva, I couldn’t deny how thrilling it was to be there. To actually be getting in on the action for once.
I was more than happy with my life and the path I’d chosen, but sometimes I swear I was suffering from a bad case of FOMO. It wasn’t like I wasn’t interested in the life. I was. It was one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to help Illayana.
There was a part in me that loved violence, like all Bratva women. I liked guns. Knives. Grenades were my favourite; blowing shit up was a whole lot of fun. I was excited to get my hands dirty. Figuratively speaking, of course.
Arturo was sitting behind his sleek, black desk, dressed in an impressive three-piece suit when I walked in. His blue-green eyes were locked firmly on the iPad in his hands, brows set in a deep frown.
His brother, Vincenzo, was standing at his side. He was similar in appearance but also drastically different. The brothers shared the same bone structure: strong jawline, sculpted features, straight nose. The same dark hair, albeit styled differently. But that was where the similarities ended.
Vincenzo’s eyes were a bright shade of green. Absolutely mesmerising to look at. He had this innate, boyish charm about him. One look and you just knew he was the textbook definition of “class clown”. The outside world knew him as one of the most eligible bachelors in all of New York. The organised crime world, however, knew he was so much deadlier than he made himself appear.
Same as his brother.
“Miss Andreeva,” Arturo greeted, putting his iPad down and getting to his feet. “Welcome.” He offered his hand and I stepped forward, giving it a firm shake.
Vincenzo gave me a once over, his eyes racking me from head to toe before his lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Nice to see you again…Tatiana, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” We’d met once, briefly at Illayana and Arturo’s wedding before it all went to shit. He was just as hot in person as he was in the tabloids. “And that smirk won’t work on me,” I said, wagging my finger in the air.
He gave me a dazzling smile. “I do love it when they play hard to get. It’s my favourite game.”
“Quiet, Vin,” Arturo ordered. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the two armchairs in front of his desk with a wave of his hand.
I chose to remain standing.
He shrugged and took a seat, steepling his fingers. “I understand Illayana has informed you of our situation with Franco, and you’ve offered to help?”
“She mentioned you’ve been having some trouble with him. Something about how he keeps finding the locations of your stash and distribution houses, robbing and torching them. My classes don’t start for another month, so I figured I’d lend a hand. Illayana’s a stress head. If I can help alleviate some of that stress for her, I’ll do it.”
“Yes, she is,” Arturo agreed.
“No offence, Pretty, but how do you plan to help us? From what I understand, you’re not involved in the day-to-day business of the Bratva,” Vincenzo said.
“By choice, not because I couldn’t handle it. I have other plans for my future. But I’ve gone through the training, I’m resourceful and I’m a fresh set of eyes that could look at this situation from a different angle. One you may not have noticed before.”
“Illayana’s spoken very highly of you,” Arturo began.
“Of course she has. I’m amazing.”
“She said you’re smart, quick. Good under pressure. And that you’re the”—he looked to his brother—“what did she call it?”
“The Michael Scofield of the Bratva.”
My lips curved. She was always saying that. I didn’t really agree with it. I was good at spotting shit other people might miss, but that didn’t mean I was anywhere on the same level as Michael Scofield. The dude was fictional, but he was such a badass.
“Right. I don’t know what that means, but Illayana assures me it’s a good thing,” Arturo continued. “Now, I value my wife’s opinion, trust her word explicitly. She’s adamant you’ll be a great asset, and I believe her.”
“But?”
“But I’m sure you can understand why a man in my position needs to make sure the people in his employ are capable of doing the work.”
I stared at him for a moment. “So…what? You want to test me or something?”
“I guess you could say that.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, studying him closely. A flicker of annoyance shot through me. “Okay, fine. I’ll do your tests. If you answer me one question.”
He shrugged a shoulder, gesturing for me to go ahead.
“If I was a man, would these ‘tests’ still be necessary?”
“Ha!” Vincenzo clapped once, humour in his eyes. “Oh, she is good.”
Arturo glared at his brother before focusing back on me. “The fact is, Tatiana, that I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re capable of, and I need to ensure that you’re able to handle not only yourself, but any situation you could encounter while acting on behalf of La Cosa Nostra.”
“And if I was a man, you wouldn’t be concerned about my ‘capability’. How about you just cut the shit, Arturo? Just admit it so we can move on to your stupid tests.”
His eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Fine. I’ll admit there’s some truth to it.”
Just as I assumed. The Cosa Nostra were old school. Very old school. Women were to be sheltered and protected, never put in harm’s way. Blah, blah, blah.
I knew Illayana’s appearance within the Cosa Nostra had caused issues. The soldiers weren’t used to taking orders from a woman. Or even seeing a woman so involved in the day-to-day life, for that matter. So, yes, in a way I could understand Arturo’s sexist thinking. It was all he and his men knew, after all.
Although I was sure my best friend was well on the way to changing that.
“Good,” I nodded. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Arturo leant back, tapping his finger on the armrest. “My wife has mentioned several times that you’re quite observant.”
It didn’t really warrant a response, so I said nothing.
“When you entered, you scanned the room, much like Illayana does when she steps into an unfamiliar place. Something I have no doubt is part of your training. There are three ‘X’s’ hidden throughout the room. Without looking around, I want you to point them out—”
I triggered the mechanism in my right sleeve and the sliding rail strapped to my forearm quickly released a knife into my hand, my fingers curling around the hilt. I flung the blade right, hitting the small “X” drawn onto the wall as I activated the same mechanism on my left sleeve, another knife slipping into my palm. I twisted, sighted the next “X” I’d seen etched into the third shelf on the bookcase and released, my knife soaring through the air and hitting its mark dead centre. I reached into the holder around my waist, pulling out another knife. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it hurling for the last “X” I’d spotted when I first walked into the room—the one right above Arturo’s head.
The Don of La Cosa Nostra didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eye as my knife embedded into the wall directly above him.
Three targets. Three bullseyes. Under three seconds.
There was a beat of silence, both men staring at me in stunned surprise. Then Vincenzo spoke.
“God, I love Bratva women.” He leant forward, eagerness in his eyes. “You seeing anyone?”
“Quiet, Vin.” Arturo looked at me. “A simple, ‘There they are’ would have sufficed.”
I shrugged, a playful expression on my face. “That was more enjoyable.”
“Yes. It seems you and my wife share the same affinity for knives.”
“It’s a Bratva thing.” I cracked my neck. “Was that it? If so, I’m immensely disappointed.”
Arturo looked like he wanted to smile but refrained. “Not quite. Vin, bring him in.”
Vincenzo left, returning a moment later with another man. He had dark blonde hair and pale skin. His hands were bound in front of him, a finely pressed Italian suit clinging to his body.
Vincenzo brought him to his knees in front of me and offered me a gun, holding it out to me.
Taking the weapon, I turned it over, admiring it. “This is one of ours.”
Arturo nodded. “Good eye.”
“And you want me to, what? Kill him? Is that the test?”
“Yes.”
I eyed him suspiciously. Something was…off. Surely it wasn’t just to see if I had the balls to kill? It couldn’t be that simple. Or idiotic, for that matter.
My eyes narrowed in concentration as I studied the man on his knees before me. The memory of his face flashed through my mind. I took all the facts into account before leveling my gaze on Arturo, one hand on my hip.
“You don’t really want me to kill him.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, this gun isn’t even loaded.” I threw it onto the desk, Arturo’s eyes tracking it across the surface as it slid to a stop with the barrel pointing towards him. “And another, he’s one of your men.”
“My men?” he repeated, pointing to his chest. “How did you reach that conclusion?”
“Firstly, the suit. Brioni. Perfect cut, Italian made. The armholes are slightly higher and the overall shape is more streamlined. It’s also the custom attire for all of your soldiers. Secondly, the earpiece. They can be hard to spot sometimes if you don’t know what to look for, but I glimpsed it when he turned his head. Thirdly, he’s armed. At least one gun in the waist, another strapped to his ankle. I highly doubt you’d allow someone you planned to kill to remain armed. And lastly, he was at your party. Security, if I remember correctly. Conducting perimeter checks. Now, I can only assume you wanted to see for yourself if I was as observant as Illayana claimed. Whether I’d be able to spot those minute details and, on the off chance that I couldn’t, you gave me a weapon that wasn’t loaded so I wouldn’t accidentally kill your man.”
All three men stared at me in stunned silence.
“What?” I asked, my gaze shifting between them. “Was I wrong?”
Vincenzo chuckled, that boyish charm of his oozing out in his laughter. “Not at all, Pretty. In fact, you’re dead on.” He looked at his brother. “Illayana told us this was a waste of time. Get up, Elio. The charade is over.”
Elio rose to his feet, a simple tug on his cuffs releasing them from his wrists.
“You may go. Thank you, Elio.”
“Boss.” He bowed in farewell and left.
“Are we done now?” I asked, glancing at my Cartier watch. “I’m getting kind of hungry.”
“Almost,” Arturo replied, looking beyond me.
Years of Bratva training told me to turn around—and to turn around now—my instincts literally screaming in my head that there was danger. I spun quickly, my arms coming up to block the knife coming right towards me, held by Elio. I kneed him in the stomach, took the knife from his hand, twisted his arm behind his back and kicked him in the leg, forcing him to his knees. His whole body locked, freezing on the spot when I pressed the sharp edge of the blade against his throat, holding his life in the palm of my hand.
Another round of silence went through the room.
Vincenzo was the one to break it again, his eyes burning with heat and focused entirely on me. “Seriously, are you seeing anyone? Let me take you out.”
Arturo sighed in exasperation at his brother. “You can let him go now.”
Because I was feeling slightly vindictive, I yanked Elio’s arm up higher, making him cry out in pain before finally letting him go. Flipping the blade, I offered him the hilt as he slowly got to his feet. His glare was full of anger and embarrassment. He snatched it from my hand and turned to face Arturo.
“Boss—”
“Don’t make excuses. I hate excuses. Just go.”
Elio bowed, not daring to say another word as he rushed out.
“Alright, you’ve convinced me that you’re competent and can handle yourself. Let’s get down to business,” Arturo began, picking up his iPad. “You’ll be given access to all of our systems, anything you might need to conduct your investigation. I’ll need your fingerprint.” He held the device out to me and I placed my thumb on the screen. “My men will be made available to you when you need them. I am confident none of them have betrayed me. But, like we discussed earlier, Franco has somehow managed to get key information on my operations, which does suggest a leak of some kind. One I need to find and remove as soon as possible if I want to resume activities. This is where you’ll be coming in. I’ll be assigning you two bodyguards while you’re here. One of them will be my brother.” Vin waggled his fingers at me, lips curled in a smirk. “Because he is my second, it will verify to others that you’re working on behalf of La Cosa Nostra while also giving you added protection, should you need it.”
I nodded. “Good idea.” It meant that, if anyone doubted what I was doing or who I was working for, Vincenzo’s presence would be enough to squash any uncertainty. “You said two. Who’s the second?”
Arturo gestured for me to turn around. I glanced over my shoulder, anger slamming into me.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
